All The Times He Didn't
by Goldenstripe25
Summary: Chat has always been impenetrable. As Adrien his heart has been surrounded by sadness; what with his distant father and ever plunging self-esteem. As Chat he always felt like second place, a runner-up and not quite good enough. Yet even then he was hardened against the power of hawkmoth's attacks. What held him together all that time and what was enough to break him?
**Chapter 1**

 **Tic, tock. Tic, tock. Tic, tock.**

' _Can that clock get any more annoying?'_

 **Tick, tock. Tic, tock. Tic, tic, tic, tic.**

' _Apparently it could.'_

The clock hand caught, much to the dismay of the students. Despite furious attempts to break free the seconds just kept ticking over and over without budging- trapping the world in an eternal quarter to 3… Or at least, trapping the small classroom that is. The evening was cool, but the classroom was warm with the fever of young bodies, all brimming with energy and nowhere to go. Coats were draped lazily over the back of chairs the same way students were propped against their chairs, listless. Bored. Outside the air was hollow and chilling, the promise of snow coating the near future.

One boy in particular, antsy and impatient under his fringe, watched that clock as though he could force it to move through sheer will. He couldn't, of course. He didn't possess _that_ kind of power. But it was worth a shot wasn't it? His body slumped to the side as his head came to rest on his arms, sprawled out on the table. He could feel his heart beat pulsing in his own ear and for a second he entertained the sensation, but it quickly lost its charm and he was back to enjoying his listlessness. A watched pot never boiled- but something about that tic-tock clock was too tantalising to resist. Or it _was_ , until it broke.

Everyone waited with a baited breath. Fingers were wrapped tighter around the bodies of pens than they had been all day, itching to stash the stationary for a quick getaway. Books were piled neatly at the edge of the table, already in order to be fed right into their backpacks. High school was rarely an exciting place, but 2:59PM was a time filled with the type of anticipation that could only be found at the end of a long, strenuous day of hard work and mental strain. Even the teacher's lecturing acquired a newfound pace and volume, as though she too were silently wishing this was over. Only the antsy boy with the furrowed brow and the pursed lips didn't seem particularly hungry for that final bell to go. He just stared at it.

And finally 3:00PM came around. All hell broke loose.

Pandemonium erupted. Serenity turned to chaos. Where there had been silence a few moments earlier was now filled with chatter and scuffling and screeching. Superficial voices speaking louder than earshot, a chorus of conversations competing with each other to attract as much attention as possible. All trivial. All pathetic… The antsy boy sighed and started to gather his own belongings. A rough nudge delivered jovially by the boy seated beside him rocked his shoulder. He'd let his guard down too much. Rather than let his cynicism and disdain toward tenth grade social hierarchy show he took a deep breath and flashed his cover-boy pearly whites in a way that conveyed all he couldn't say.

' _It's alright.'_

Group by group the students filed out of the class and proceeded down the halls, the ruckus following and growing fainter with every single passing second until it was little more than a distant rumble. Soon the he was the only one left. Silently he slung his knapsack over his shoulder and started toward the door, interrupted mid-step on his way out by a small voice in front of him.

"Adrien…"

His head snapped up, gaze catching on the girl before him. Ebony hair, thin yet abundant, combed and parted perfectly- drawn up into small pigtails just as usual. Those hauntingly beautiful blue eyes, filled with pure innocence and simply one-of-a-kind. Rosy, soft cheeks- a complexion some girls would, and did, pay for. _'Marionette…'_ He didn't mean to gawk but he liked to look at her. She wasn't like the other girls. Her amazing physique was attractive he supposed, but that wasn't what he liked her for. What appealed to him the most was her sweet disposition. Socially she was slightly inept- or at least, that's what he'd gathered from all the stuttering and flapping about on her part. A very strange character, but when she let go of her self-consciousness and found courage she stood tall and it was hard not to appreciate her. She was always willing to lend a hand, looking out for others before herself with a smile and a wave. He admired that. It reminded him of another extraordinary lady he knew. The world was lucky to be graced by her presence.

Usually he had the time to spare for her- it was the least she deserved- and while he had a great admiration for the ebony hared girl, he wasn't particularly in the mood today to entertain her crazy awkwardness. Actually, he wasn't particularly in the mood to entertain anything. Being around people, dazzling them with his degree of utter perfection, striving to be 'the boy who has everything'. It was tiring. The life he lived, excelling in fencing and forcing himself to be in peak physical condition while consuming as few calories as possible all for the sake of his superficial, outward façade, it was exhausting. But his perfect disguise wasn't merely cosmetic. It run much deeper than that, spreading to and infecting his academic repertoire. It was all or nothing and it had been that way for so long now that even if he wanted to (and boy did he want to) he couldn't let himself slip.

Going home was only a partial relief.

Going home meant he could cut the crap. He could drop the mask. He could be himself because at the end of the day, once he left that school yard and was out of the public's eye, there was no-one _to_ impress. No one cared if he allowed himself to mope through the grand white doors. No one cared if he collapsed in a heap the moment he was behind closed doors, his personal fortress of solitude. No one cared how miserable and alone he was. The only person he had to impress there was himself and his father- but with his father never available the judgement of self-worth and importance often fell on his own shoulders and when he looked at himself he honestly couldn't find anything to be desired. It was all fake and disgusting.

His attention was brought back to Marinette. Her hands went from gripping the strap of her bag, which by the looks of it she'd been gripping with an impressive strength, to wringing in front of her. Her lips were working the same way as her hands were, nervously and without much thought and he knew it was too late. Once she started, there'd be no stopping. The words would tumble from her mouth in nothing less than a chaotic mess of sputters and syntax. _'Uh Adrien, how're you okay? …I mean, um are you today? Uh…heh um… You look hot today… I mean, it's hot today! Well, not hot out there but in here and, um…_ 'And then she'd ramble on a little more and Adrien didn't know if he could cope with that today. He just…

"…You, um, you look tired. Are you alright?"

It was short, sweet, straight to the point, and it had Adrien visibly recoiling. He couldn't hide the momentary shock scrawled into his features or the way his mouth hung slightly agape as he tried to process what he just heard. Gosh he must really come across as terrible if he got a whole sentence out of Marinette. He needed to find his composure and fast before she grew more worried.

Flashing a smile, much like he'd given to Nico, he nodded in acknowledgement and tried to convey his appreciation. "I'm alright, thank you Marinette." She looked like she wanted to say more but in better judgement silently returned the gesture, nodding and letting the blonde haired boy pass by her.

Adrien walked the halls, keeping to himself. Usually he'd steer clear of anyone who he thought might want to hold him up. Mainly Chloe. She was a tornado on heels and he had no time for her superficial, self-absorbed nonsense. Yet as he strode further and further away, putting more distance between himself and the raven haired girl, their brief exchange grew stronger until it was all he thought about. In fact, he was so engrossed in his own whirlwind of thoughts that he sauntered right past the pink tornado without even so much as a glance to acknowledge her. He waltzed right up to the idle car, sliding into the leather-lined back seat as usual, very efficiently… very alone. And despite all his dread of isolation and bleak idea of returning to his empty home life, for the first time that day there was smile toying at the corner of his lips.

It was faint and fleeting, but it was there.

Maybe everything wasn't alright- but it didn't mean there weren't little things in the world that were right.

* * *

 **Heya everyone! I hope this is angsty enough. I can't promise quick updates, nor can I promise future quality (my writing capabilities are so rusty tbh)- BUT I _can_ promise LOTS MORE ANGST AND SADNESS TO COME. If there's one thing I'm confident in, it's thinking up ways to torment fictional boys who are already inflicted with too much hurt to handle.**

 **Pls feel free to leave feedback. It's greatly appreciated. Thank you for sticking through that. Fingers crossed that this rollercoaster will only go up from here, am I right?**

 **Love, Chelocean xxx**


End file.
